


Eye For An Eye

by Aini_NuFire



Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [30]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Angst, Dragon Riders, Drama, Gen, Hurt Porthos, blind Porthos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26545162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aini_NuFire/pseuds/Aini_NuFire
Summary: With Milady’s return, the musketeers find themselves on the receiving end of her wrath. Beginning with Porthos…
Series: Musketeer Dragon Riders [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1564573
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Shoutout to 29pieces for beta reading!

Athos staggered into the Musketeer garrison, still reeling from his encounter with his wife, risen from the dead yet again. But instead of a reanimated corpse or ghost, she was now a full flesh and blood sorceress. And she was going to pick up where she'd left off—exacting revenge on Athos and those closest to him.

He had to find his brothers, had to tell them. They deserved to know before anyone else…and Athos _would_ have to tell the King. Anne wasn't just a threat to Athos anymore, not with the kind of power she now possessed and the innocent people who had already gotten caught up in her machinations.

"Hugo," he called to a passing musketeer, his voice rough. "Did you see where Aramis, Porthos, and d'Artagnan went?"

"After they took care of their dragons, I saw all three of them heading for the infirmary," the man replied.

Athos gave him a nod and headed for the building. He walked in on Aramis sitting on one of the beds, shirtless, and a spectacular array of deep colors marring his back. D'Artagnan was rubbing some ointment into the bruising. Athos mentally chided himself for forgetting to send Doctor Lemay over.

Porthos was watching d'Artagnan's ministrations from the next bed over where he sat with a tray of food waiting for when they finished, but he looked up at Athos's arrival. "That was fast," he commented. "Did Treville have Bonnaire thrown in the Chatelet?"

Aramis craned his head to look over his shoulder as d'Artagnan finished up and grabbed a cloth to wipe his hands on.

"I don't know," Athos answered, faltering under their guileless gazes. He was about to shatter everything with the news he bore. "I left after escorting Bonnaire to his office." He stopped again, his throat suddenly feeling tight.

D'Artagnan furrowed his brows in concern "You all right? You don't look well."

Athos swallowed hard. "There's something I need to tell you." He took a breath. "My wife is still alive."

He watched them exchange uncertain glances, not quite knowing what to make of his statement.

"Yer serious," Porthos finally blurted.

Athos nodded. "She revealed herself as I was leaving the palace."

"How?" Porthos asked incredulously. "I shot her. Her body fell into the river. There's no way she could have survived, not wit'out help."

"She wasn't killed instantly," Athos replied, cringing at words he'd never thought he'd hear himself say—or believe. "She apparently…sold her soul in exchange for her life."

Aramis stood up from the bed and shucked his shirt back on, barely hiding a pained wince. "Why do I get the feeling you don't mean that metaphorically?"

"There's more," Athos went on grimly. "She's the witch behind all the recent attacks—the blood wine, the rats, even the dead that were raised. All to torment me- us."

Their eyes widened but none of them seemed to know what to say to that. Athos didn't know what to say either. Once again, this was his fault.

He cleared his throat, finally breaking the silence. "You deserved to know first," he said. "Even before I inform the King."

Aramis let out a low whistle. "That's not going to be an easy conversation."

"Maybe wait until after Bonnaire is dealt with," d'Artagnan suggested. "Unless Milady made an imminent threat…?"

Athos shook his head. "Only that those previous attacks were just her getting started."

"Wonderful," Porthos muttered.

"I'm sorry," Athos said, meeting each of their gazes. "I thought the threat she posed was over."

D'Artagnan took a step toward him. "What did I tell you last time? You are not responsible for her actions."

"She's going to target all of you because of me."

"We're musketeers," Aramis said. "We face death every day. This is no different just because it's personal."

"We beat her once," Porthos added. "We'll do so again."

Athos almost smiled at his friends' steadfast loyalty…but he saw the shadow of doubt in Porthos's eyes. This wasn't like an enemy they had faced before, and Athos truly didn't know if they had it in them to defeat her this time.

"I agree with d'Artagnan," Aramis said. "Wait until the matter with Bonnaire is dealt with before informing the King about Milady."

Athos nodded; it couldn't hurt to wait a day. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked.

"Sore, but I'll be fine," Aramis assured him.

"Why don't I fill you in on what happened on the road with Bonnaire," d'Artagnan suggested.

"Very well." Athos hesitated, thinking about how Thomas's ghost had been plaguing him, how it was yet another of his ex-wife's games to mess with him. "If anything strange happens," he began, "I want to know immediately. No matter what it is. We don't know what my wife is capable of with her new dark powers."

They all nodded in sober agreement.

Athos and d'Artagnan left Porthos to help Aramis to his room while they went up to the captain's office so Athos could take d'Artagnan's report. He looked around as they entered, but Thomas was gone. That particular game might be over now that Anne had spoiled the mystery.

Despite the promise he'd extracted from his friends, Athos decided he wouldn't mention it to them unless he saw Thomas again.

.o.0.o.

The evidence against Bonnaire was irrefutable and he was swiftly dealt with, so the following morning, Athos went before the King, Queen, and Treville to brief them on Milady's return—he had to think of her as Milady from here on out. Whatever Anne had been before—liar, thief, assassin—that woman was dead. What remained was a real monster now. Athos had to remember that.

Rochefort was present as well, as the King's official witch hunter. It burned Athos's pride to have to lay out all the sordid details in front of him, but he couldn't hold back too much. They needed to be made aware of the threat.

Louis gaped at him as though he'd never seen Athos before. "You were married to a witch?"

"She wasn't a witch when we were married," he corrected. "That is a recent development. After she murdered my brother, I turned her over to the magistrate for trial, but she somehow escaped justice, thanks to the Cardinal. She then worked for him as a spy and assassin until she was killed a year ago. Or so we thought. She claims she bargained away her soul in exchange for life and these new powers she's cultivated in the past year. She's admitted to being responsible for the black magic incidents in the city recently."

Louis's brows shot up further, if that were possible, and he threw an incredulous look at Rochefort. "I thought you took care of the witch and the necromancer?"

"Rochefort killed the boarding house owner without a thorough inquiry," Athos jumped in. "But as it turns out, she was framed. Milady was smart enough to cease her activities so we would all think it was over. She did the same with the priest that was mistaken for the necromancer."

Rochefort's jaw visibly ticked with seething irritation, yet otherwise he managed to keep a calm exterior. "This witch will be hunted down and destroyed, Your Majesty," he vowed.

"At least her goals are not against France or the Crown itself," Athos put in again. "Her grudge is against me and those responsible for foiling her plans the last time."

"I suppose I should take that as a small comfort," Louis replied doubtfully.

"Can you truly catch this witch before she causes more harm?" the Queen worriedly asked Rochefort.

"I swear to do everything in my power," he replied. He then canted his head in consideration before speaking again. "Since this witch has set her targets against certain musketeers, I would advise those men not be assigned to protect the King or Queen, lest Their Majesties get caught in the crosshairs."

Louis pursed his mouth, but after a moment of thought, nodded. "You speak with wisdom, Rochefort."

Athos gritted his teeth, but it wasn't as though he could refute Rochefort's argument.

"I would be happy to accompany Your Majesty on your dragon flights," Rochefort went on.

"I appreciate the offer, Rochefort," Louis replied. "But I think it would be best if you focus on hunting down this witch as quickly as possible."

Rochefort's eye twitched slightly but he bowed.

Louis cast his gaze over Athos and the others before turning to Treville. "I suppose we have things to discuss."

Treville's expression looked tight as he walked out with the King.

"I can't believe Rochefort jus' got us taken off protection duty," Porthos growled under his breath.

"He's right, though," Athos grudgingly said. "I doubt Milady cares who gets caught up in her quest for revenge, even the King himself."

"Still," d'Artagnan put in, "it's obvious Rochefort wants to elevate his own position with the King."

"Then he should focus on finding Milady," Aramis said. "And with any luck, they could take each other out."

Athos sighed. If wishes were horses…

They returned to the garrison where they would be stuck for a while, now that they'd been removed from guard duty at the palace. There weren't even any errands away from the city at the moment, which was unfortunate because Athos would jump at the chance to send his brothers away if it would keep them safe.

He doubted they'd be agreeable to that, though. No, now that they knew Milady was back, they'd probably be sticking close to Athos. He didn't know whether to be comforted or worried about that.

He headed up to his office to adjust the duty rosters for the next week. Another glance around at the corners revealed Thomas remained absent. Athos was still on guard, though.

A short while later there was a knock at his door.

"Enter."

It was Treville, expression drawn.

"The King is upset," Athos said. That had been obvious.

"He's frightened," Treville corrected. "The recent black magic attacks unnerved him greatly, and now he knows the person behind them is still out there."

"But not after him."

"No, though Rochefort will have him believing he'll end up collateral damage." Treville scowled. "He started asking me whether it was safe to leave the palace at all."

Athos slumped over his desk and sighed. "My wife casts a very long shadow." One that transcended years, even.

Treville was silent for a moment, looking like he was chewing on something. "Those visions of your brother's ghost," he finally said, leaving the statement hanging open.

"They were from her," Athos admitted. "She told me so. But since then, I haven't had any more."

Treville looked at him in concern. "The last time she went after you, she kidnapped and tortured you, and blew up a church to get at the others."

"I know," Athos said tightly. "I know exactly how much danger the others are in because of me."

"That wasn't my point, Athos," Treville said sternly. "That's what she did as a mere mortal. Now she has a witch's powers. There's no telling the damage she could do."

"Are you saying I should resign my commission? Leave Paris and hope she follows?"

"I'm saying, _be careful_. I'd hate to lose any of you, especially now. Things with Spain are on precarious ground. I don't trust Rochefort at all. The King needs his musketeers."

Athos hung his head. "And yet until Milady is stopped, the four of us won't be able to protect him at all."

Treville nodded gravely. "As much as I hate to say it, Rochefort might be our best chance at that. Let's just hope he's as good a witch hunter as he's claimed to be."

Athos closed his eyes in mounting despair. How black was the day when the Musketeers needed Rochefort to save them.

A moment of quiet passed, and then Athos looked up.

"If you miss flying," he broached gently, "you can take Savron out with the King. Someone needs to be protecting him."

Treville didn't respond right away, but after another moment he said, "I'll consider it."

Athos didn't press. It was something. Treville may have been a politician now, but Athos still trusted him with the King's protection more than that weasel Rochefort.


	2. Chapter 2

Several days passed without incident. Everyone was tense, though, waiting for some strange occurrence or magical attack to befall them. But Milady was anything if not patient, as they'd learned from their previous experience with her. And keeping a victim in suspense was just another form of torture.

At least the quiet gave Aramis's back time to heal; he'd prefer to be in fit shape when the anvil finally fell on their heads again.

In the meantime, they were all stuck with garrison duties like cleaning the weapons in the armory and mucking out the stables and dragon dens. It wasn't like they all didn't do those chores on a regular rotation, but an entire week of it was getting tedious. They couldn't be relegated to grunt work forever. But Rochefort had convinced the King he wasn't safe with the four of them, so there was little they could do about it at the moment.

"Now I know how Athos feels," Aramis remarked. "Being stuck at the garrison all the time."

"Yeah, but he's up in his office while we've been doin' drudgery," Porthos harrumphed, slumping onto the bench seat at their usual table.

"Athos has enough to deal with," d'Artagnan commented, pouring himself a cup of water from the pitcher.

Porthos reached over to take it next when a raven came dive bombing at their table out of nowhere. With a blood-curdling scream, it latched onto Porthos's head, flapping its wings madly and pecking at him. He jerked backward, spilling the water pitcher as he threw his arms up to fight it off. Aramis and d'Artagnan leaped to their feet, both of them casting around for a blunt object to bludgeon the thing with.

But in the next second, it broke away. The commotion had drawn the attention of the dragons in the yard, and Rhaego tried to snatch the raven out of the air as it flew past, but he missed, and the bird careened away.

Porthos rocked back in his seat, batting his hands over his hair as though the bird were still on him. Aramis moved in and seized his flailing arms, wrenching them down so he could get a look. There were no scratches on his face, and a quick run through of his scalp didn't show any damage either.

"You all right?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Think so," Porthos said, working to get his breathing back under control. He cast a worried look in the direction the raven had disappeared in. "You think that counts as somethin' strange to be worried about?"

Aramis and d'Artagnan exchanged a look.

"What," d'Artagnan said, "Milady is going to make random animals start attacking us?"

"We really don't know what she's capable of," Aramis replied.

All three of them slowly shifted their gazes across the yard to the dragons.

"You don't think she could manipulate them, do you?" d'Artagnan asked nervously.

Neither Aramis nor Porthos answered for a moment. In reality, Milady didn't need magic to make a dragon insane enough to attack his rider; there was already an alchemical compound that did that. Still, that thing with the raven was strange…

"Nah," Porthos finally said, though there was a tremor in his voice.

Aramis turned away and crossed himself. He really didn't want to think about it.

.o.0.o.

Milady stood just outside the mausoleum as the raven glided over the graveyard toward her and alighted on her extended arm. She held her other hand out, and the bird deposited the lock of hair in its beak into her palm. She closed her fist around the dark curl and grinned, then stroked the back of her finger down the raven's chest. With a soft coo, she sent it on its way, its work complete.

She turned and re-entered the mausoleum, an old, private burial chamber for a family long dead, which meant no visitors nor employed servants to maintain its upkeep. The perfect place for her to conduct her business undisturbed.

Everything was laid out already; she'd just been waiting on this last ingredient for her latest casting. Milady walked up to the small altar she'd erected and picked up a round, clay token from the table. She pressed the lock of hair into the still soft clay, binding the two together. Then she moved her other hand over the spell bowl and began the incantation.

The chamber grew dark, shadows rising up out of the floor like amorphous beings. The candle flames shrank down to pinpricks in their presence. Milady felt the air grow heavy and oppressive as the dark powers she called upon gathered to answer her bidding.

She dropped the token with Porthos's hair into the bowl and inhaled deeply of the rising smoke.

" _Oculum pro oculo_ …"

.o.0.o.

Rochefort snapped the cover of his magic tracker closed with a frustrated scowl. He'd been trying to track down this Milady for days now, but the compass that narrowed in on disturbances in the natural order kept spinning its arrows in every direction without pointing anywhere. Just like it had when he'd been hunting down the necromancer. The necromancer he'd thought he'd taken care of but apparently had been duped on.

Rochefort remembered the widow he'd met outside the church, the one who had pointed him toward the priest in the first place. She had to have been the witch, he was certain. And she'd slipped right through his fingers.

At least he was the only one who knew about that encounter, and he had no intention of admitting it happened. Athos had already painted him the fool in front of the King and Queen with the mistaken executions of the priest and boarding house woman. The embarrassment burned hot inside him, and now he had to catch this witch if he was going to regain ground.

But his instrument was proving useless. She must be using counter spells to throw off its readings. This Milady was proving more formidable than he'd thought.

He stormed through the gardens and back into the palace toward his chambers where he could consider what to do next.

"Rochefort," a low voice hissed from an alcove.

Rochefort slowed his stride, jaw clenching in irritation. He turned slowly to face Ambassador Perales.

The man glanced up and down the corridor to make sure they were alone, though he still kept his voice pitched low. "Still out hunting witches, hm? You are wasting time. Remember what your duty is here, Rochefort."

Rochefort couldn't care less about his "duty" to Spain. "Are you advocating that agents of the Devil should be allowed to roam freely, committing heinous acts against God?" he asked calmly. As a fellow Catholic nation, Spain had the same zero tolerance for witches that France did.

Perales bristled. "Spain has larger concerns than one witch on French soil. You would do well to remember that."

"Catching this witch is how I will endear myself further to the King."

"And yet you have made little progress thus far," Perales snipped. "In fact, word is the opposite is true; you bungled the first two witch hunts and now—"

Rochefort backhanded him across the face, cutting him off and sending him back a step.

Perales staggered, pressing a hand to the back of his mouth, and gaped at Rochefort in utter shock.

He stepped closer, smirking internally at how Perales flinched minutely in response. "I am in control," Rochefort seethed. "Spain approved of my release and my plans in France. _You_ would do well to remember _that_."

He turned on his heel then and marched away. Not back to his chambers, no, he needed to soothe the fiery beast that had been awakened in him. And there was only one way to do that.

After a few subtle inquiries among the palace staff, Rochefort learned the Queen was over at the royal dragon compound. He thought it curious, yet it also would afford them some privacy, which was good. And if she was interested in dragons, he knew quite a lot himself.

But as he made his way into the compound, he narrowed his eyes at finding the Queen with the dragon keeper's daughter, the two of them looking rather engaged with the King's dragon, Dragor.

"Your Majesty," he greeted buoyantly, interrupting whatever they had been discussing.

"Rochefort," Anne said in surprise but graced him with a warm smile. "What brings you out here?"

"I was just coming to check on my dragon," he replied. "Have you met him? He may not compare to the King's own creatures, but he is a magnificent beast in his own right."

"Yes, I've seen him. Constance has told me everything she and her father are doing to try to help the poor thing. Falkor is in good hands."

Rochefort faltered and couldn't help sliding an irritated look at Bonacieux's daughter, also wife to one of the musketeers. "Well," he managed to grit out, "I'm pleased to hear it."

"Aren't you supposed to be out looking for the witch?" the girl asked.

Rochefort bristled and almost slapped her for her insolence, but Anne spoke before he did.

"Yes, of course. I shouldn't be distracting you."

Rochefort clenched his jaw. He had to leave or risk looking negligent. So with a stiff bow, he turned and walked away, mentally cursing everyone who kept getting in his way.

.o.0.o.

Athos sat at his desk in his dimly lit office, staring through the gaps of the curtain over the window. An empty glass was his only company; he'd finished the wine bottle in his bottom drawer yesterday and the only reason he hadn't gotten more was he hadn't gone out at all.

A sharp rap came at the door.

"Not now," he called.

There was a brief pause before the caller opened the door anyway. Athos winced slightly at the influx of light. Rather than coming inside, though, Aramis merely leaned casually against the door frame.

"Come down for lunch," he said.

"Not now," Athos repeated, turning his gaze away.

"Hiding yourself away up here isn't going to deter Milady from coming after the rest of us," Aramis said.

Athos closed his eyes; he knew that. He just couldn't stand being the cause of all this trouble, and it was easier to isolate himself.

"Porthos got attacked by a raven this morning."

Athos whipped his head back around. "What?"

Aramis was still standing there casually. "It didn't even scratch him. Perhaps it thought his mass of hair would make good material for a nest." He shrugged.

Athos furrowed his brow, not knowing what to make of that.

Aramis straightened off the door frame. "Come down for lunch, Athos. It'd be good for morale." He then turned and walked away, leaving the door wide open.

Athos heaved a sigh but after a moment got up to follow. D'Artagnan and Porthos were already seated at the table below the balcony with a lunch spread of fruit, bread, and cheese on a tray in the center. Aramis sat down next to Porthos and snatched up an apple. Athos took a seat across from him next to d'Artagnan, who wordlessly held out a bread roll for him. Athos accepted it.

And just like that it was almost as if there wasn't an invisible guillotine hanging over their heads because of Athos's ex-wife.

"What are we going to do about Rochefort?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Not much we can do," Aramis replied.

"He's trying to undermine the King's trust in us," the boy persisted. "And he hasn't made any progress on tracking down Milady. He's probably dragging it out on purpose."

"Except, failing to capture her will also turn the King's disappointment on him," Athos pointed out. No, more likely she was proving to be a very elusive quarry.

D'Artagnan huffed. "Still. We need to find a way to get back to our regular duties."

Porthos suddenly grunted and grabbed the edges of the table, bowing his head forward.

"Porthos?" Aramis called. "What is it?"

Porthos's entire body was rigid for another moment before he seemed to loosen, like he'd had some kind of fit. But a second later he visibly stiffened again.

"What's goin' on?" he asked in alarm. "I can't see. I can't see!"

He flailed his arms around, knocking over the cups on the table. Aramis grabbed his elbow and gripped his shoulder, trying to calm him down. Porthos swung his head back and forth, and Athos's blood ran cold when he caught sight of Porthos's wide, searching eyes—where once had been warm brown irises were now solid opaque whites.


	3. Chapter 3

D'Artagnan stared in horror at the white marbles of Porthos's eyes.

"Why can't I see?" Porthos asked fearfully. "Aramis?" He whipped his head back and forth searchingly, even though Aramis was sitting on his left.

The marksman looked equally horrified but managed to keep his voice steady. "Easy, Porthos," he replied, gripping the man's arm and shoulder. "Let's get you to the infirmary."

He tugged Porthos up out of his seat. The large musketeer bumped against the table and stumbled as he tried to gain his footing. Aramis kept a firm hold on him and started guiding him across the yard.

D'Artagnan turned to follow but stopped when Athos failed to move. Their captain was staring after Porthos and Aramis, pallor ashen. D'Artagnan reached out to touch his arm.

"Come on."

He had to give Athos his own insistent tug to get him moving, but finally the two of them trailed after Aramis and Porthos into the infirmary where Aramis eased Porthos onto the nearest bed.

"What is it?" Porthos kept asking. "What's wrong wit' my eyes?"

"Try to keep still," Aramis said, avoiding the question. He took Porthos's face carefully in his hands and tilted it this way and that to look at his eyes. He flicked a grim look at d'Artagnan and Athos; they all knew what this was.

"Someone gonna fetch Doctor Lemay?" Porthos asked, a warble in his voice.

"I think this is beyond his realm of expertise," Aramis finally answered regretfully.

A pregnant silence fell between them. Porthos reached up shaky hands toward his face.

D'Artagnan steeled his jaw. "I think it's time we give Rochefort some help with his hunt. Don't worry, Porthos, we'll fix this."

"I'll stay here," Aramis said.

D'Artagnan nodded. Porthos needed someone with him.

He turned and strode out of the infirmary. Athos wordlessly followed.

"You don't have to come with me," d'Artagnan said carefully. "No one would think less of you. She was your wife."

"My wife is dead," Athos replied. "Whatever she is now…she isn't human."

D'Artagnan wasn't going to debate that with him. Never mind that being a witch didn't necessarily make one a monster, as they'd learned in the past. No, he was inclined to believe Milady was as evil as they came—even before she'd sold her soul for the powers of the Devil.

They made their way to the palace in search of Rochefort and were told he was in his chambers. So much for actually doing his job. Athos tersely told a servant to fetch the Comte, as they had urgent business to discuss with the King's _official_ witch hunter.

Rochefort kept them waiting for twenty minutes before he finally walked into the foyer. "Yes, what is it?" he asked disinterestedly.

"There's been another magical attack by the witch Milady," d'Artagnan said.

Rochefort arched an eyebrow. "Has there? What kind of attack?"

"She's stolen Porthos's eyes," Athos said, voice tightly controlled.

D'Artagnan bristled at the glint of delight in Rochefort's own eyes. The man took pleasure in the musketeers' being victims in all this.

"Has she?" he replied. "How malevolent."

"Have you made _any_ progress in tracking her whereabouts?" d'Artagnan demanded. "You've had a week."

"Unfortunately, my tracker is not working. She is likely using counter spells to confuse it."

D'Artagnan bit back a retort. If Milady could do that, how the hell were they going to find her?

"Then what is your backup plan?" Athos asked. "Surely a witch hunter such as yourself has more than one tool in his arsenal."

Rochefort's gaze remained bland. "I was just going through them when I received your urgent summons," he said condescendingly.

"What about the dragons?" Athos went on. "Falkor was able to track the scent of magic with the necromancer."

"That was the combination of magic and death," Rochefort replied. "A spell that steals eyes is…rather small, in comparison."

D'Artagnan had to pour extra effort into not making a derisive sound. Porthos was important here, not Rochefort's attitude. "Sounds like it's worth a try," he said. "Since your tools are so easily nullified."

"Of course," Rochefort replied smoothly. "That was next on my list before you arrived."

D'Artagnan scowled. Right.

"If you'll excuse me," Rochefort said, turning away.

"We'll accompany you," Athos said. "Three dragons is always better than one."

There was a brief pause where Rochefort looked like he'd bitten into something sour, but then he cleared his expression and kept going without a word. Athos and d'Artagnan went after him.

.o.0.o.

Ayelet stood gathered with Savron, Falkor, their riders, and Rhaego in the dragon compound, listening to the humans discuss using the dragons to track a witch by the scent of her magic. She wasn't really understanding it, though.

Savron reminded her of the recent events with the dead risen from their graves and the rats that had overrun the garrison and dragon compound. Those had been caused by witchcraft. When Savron and Athos had accompanied Falkor and Rochefort in their hunt for the necromancer, they had tracked the scent of death and magic twined together to find the caster. The magic would smell differently this time, without the necromancer component, but Savron thought there should be a common scent, unique to this particular witch, that they might home in on. He was trying to describe the scent to Rhaego, who hadn't been part of that first hunt either.

Ayelet tried to follow along, but she still wasn't getting it. What was magic, anyway? The way the humans talked about it, it wasn't visible or tangible, so how could one be able to smell it?

"Exactly how long are we going to wait for Aramis to join us?" Rochefort interrupted impatiently.

"He's not," Athos replied. "But his dragon is the best tracker in all of France."

"Is that so?" Rochefort hummed, sounding unimpressed.

Rhaego glowered at the man and received a warning look from Athos in return.

"We should start where Milady revealed herself to me," Athos went on.

Rochefort scoffed. "Her physical scent will be long gone by now, as will her magical one."

"Pity you didn't think to check there sooner," d'Artagnan snipped.

"Neither did you."

Ayelet tilted her head as she watched the obvious tension among them.

"It is at least a place to start," Athos said sternly.

"I agree," Rochefort said quickly. "But there's no use spending all our resources in one place. You take your dragons to that location, and Falkor and I will try another approach."

"Sounds reasonable," d'Artagnan agreed. "Athos has Savron and Rhaego, so Ayelet and I will come with you."

Ayelet didn't miss the way Rochefort bristled with chagrin. He was a very prickly man. Much like his dragon.

The humans mounted up and the dragons took to the skies, splitting up immediately.

Savron called over his shoulder for Ayelet to be careful as he and Rhaego flew in the opposite direction.

"So what exactly is your other approach?" d'Artagnan yelled over the wind.

Rochefort didn't respond. Falkor veered right and Ayelet followed. They only flew a short distance before landing in a small church yard.

"Isn't this where you traced the false necromancer to?" d'Artagnan said.

"The necromancer was real and was here," Rochefort replied tightly.

"That was even longer ago than where Athos saw her. I thought you said the scent would be gone?"

Rochefort shot a vexed glower at him. "Necromancy is powerful magic and can linger longer. Plus, Falkor had the scent here once; he might be able to pick it up again."

Ayelet looked expectantly at the other dragon. He was standing perfectly still, head canted slightly, eyes closed. Ayelet asked what he was doing.

He snapped at her to be quiet.

She cowered in response, but after several more moments of seemingly nothing happening, she bent her nose to the ground and began to sniff for herself. All she smelled though was earth, mulch, grass, and some animal droppings. No magic at all.

Magic's everywhere, Falkor told her.

Ayelet blinked and squinted in confusion.

He turned his head to look at her, then tipped it back toward the sky. He told her to listen to the wind. She couldn't see it, but it existed. It moved and breathed and had a voice. Magic was the same.

Ayelet asked how they were supposed to track down a witch if magic was all around them.

Falkor replied that magic wasn't meant for humans. They defiled it when they touched it. He instructed her to close her eyes and focus on the smells around her, to gradually filter out the ones she was familiar with.

Ayelet did as he said. Falkor told her to peel back the layers one by one, then asked if she could smell that sharp tang, floating like electricity on the air. She had to concentrate, but after several moments, she thought she detected what he was describing.

That was magic.

Like burnt ozone, Falkor added, giving her words for it. That was what magic corrupted by humans smelled like.

It was faint, though. And when they took to the air again to attempt tracing its path to a location, it quickly dissipated on the wind. They flew for almost an hour trying to pick it up again before calling it quits and returning to the compound empty-handed. They weren't the only ones, either. Savron and Rhaego also reported not finding anything.

The humans began to argue, which the dragons tuned out. Ayelet asked what they were going to do next. Savron said wait for the witch to reveal herself again, and then maybe Rhaego could get a fresher scent. Ayelet turned to ask Falkor his opinion, but he was already shuffling away to find an isolated corner to tuck himself away in.

Savron asked if things had gone okay with him.

Ayelet happily reported that they had, aside from their search coming up empty. But Falkor had taught her how to smell magic and how humans touching it was sacrilegious.

Savron furrowed his expression slightly. Sacrilegious in what way?

They defiled it, Ayelet explained. Now she understood why witches were evil.

Savron's gaze narrowed a fraction further. Witches were like any human, he said, they could be good or bad. This one they were searching for was very bad, but not because she was a witch—because she used her magic to hurt people. _Our people_.

Ayelet pursed her mouth. Why would Falkor tell her differently? She'd have to ask him later.

But in the meantime, she needed to work on her magic tracking. Because Savron was right, and she wasn't going to let that wicked witch hurt d'Artagnan or Constance.

.o.0.o.

Porthos clung to the edge of the bed, the only way to ground himself in the all-encompassing darkness that left him dizzy each time he tried to move. There was no light, no hint of shape or color. It reminded him of when he'd been trapped in that mine, except this time there was no escaping to somewhere else, no one to bring in a torch and banish the suffocating blackness.

There was a clink of earthenware, and Porthos snapped his head toward it. But the sound ceased, and without it he had no way of guessing what it was or who was there. It was Aramis, of course, he knew. But he couldn't _see_ …

Porthos stood on shaky legs, desperate to do something other than sit in the emptiness. His knees struck the edge of the next bed after just one step and he tripped. He threw his arms out to catch himself, one hitting the mattress while the other struck the bedpost.

"Porthos!"

Footsteps hurried over and then hands were gripping his arm, trying to lever him up and guide him back to the wretched bed he'd been sitting on.

"If you need something, just tell me," Aramis said.

Porthos wrenched his arm away, but the sharp movement upset his precarious balance and he toppled backward. A mattress caught him before he could do further damage to himself. "What if I'm gonna be blind fer the rest of my life?" he exclaimed. "I can't live like this."

A strong hand clasped him on the shoulder firmly. "Listen to me," Aramis said. "This was caused by magic, which means there must be a way to reverse it. We just have to find Milady and—"

"And what?" Porthos snapped. "Make her reverse it? You really think there's anything we can do to force her hand? If she's caught, she'll leave me like this so she'll have the last word. And if she's not caught…then my life is over. I'll be back in the Court of Miracles where I'll die jus' like my mother."

" _Enough_." Aramis yanked harshly on his shoulder. "Do you think for one moment any of us would let that happen? And even if we don't find Milady, there are other witches. Agnes, for example. I'm not just going to sit back and accept this as your fate so neither should you."

Porthos swallowed hard against his constricting throat. How many times had he expressed such bravado in the face of insurmountable odds? But he'd always been in fighting shape. He was a soldier. He could face any enemy with a sword and pistol in his hands. This…he couldn't fight this.

In this condition, he couldn't fight anything.

The door creaked open and Porthos tensed, reaching up to grasp Aramis's wrist. "Who is it?"

"Athos and d'Artagnan," he replied quietly.

"Did you find her?" Porthos asked in a louder voice.

There wasn't an immediate response, which was answer enough.

Porthos felt true terror grip his heart at the prospect of being trapped in the darkness forever.

.o.0.o.

Another day of failed searching. Rochefort returned to the palace late and used the secret entrance through the late Cardinal's private chapel to avoid the King and any members of his Council who might demand a progress report. He was not surprised the dragons had been unable to pick up a trail. This witch was going to have to cast a spell of more magnitude to draw attention to herself. And he was going to have to think of a different way to corner her.

"Your great plan to prove yourself to the King isn't working out so well," a voice spoke from the darkness. "Since you can't catch one measly witch."

Rochefort spun toward Perales, his nostrils flaring in fury at being both surprised and mocked. "I'm working on it," he seethed.

Perales snorted derisively. "Work faster. Or frame another witch and be done with it."

Rochefort took a menacing step forward. "The threat this witch poses is only helping to discredit the Musketeers in the King's eyes."

"And you. Or are your mental faculties so far gone from your time in prison you can't see that?"

Rochefort curled his hands into fists. He was fed up with Spain and their sniveling ambassador. "Actually," he spoke smoothly, "your suggestion does have merit."

He whipped out his dagger and plunged it into Perales's chest, clapping his other hand over the ambassador's mouth to stifle any cry. Perales's eyes were blown wide as he gazed up at Rochefort in paralyzed shock. Rochefort twisted the blade; the body jerked, and then dropped to the floor.

Rochefort heaved a heavy sigh. Now he had more work to do.

No rest for the wicked.


	4. Chapter 4

Athos didn't know how to face Porthos. His friend could be permanently blind because of him, not only because it was his wife out to destroy them, but also because he'd yet to find a way to stop her.

If she even could be stopped.

Aramis had stayed with Porthos all night. Athos had been too much of a coward to and had locked himself away in his office. He didn't get any sleep, as he imagined none of them had.

The next morning he received an urgent summons to the palace, which filled him with an inexplicable dread at one question—what now?

D'Artagnan accompanied him, both of them silent and stoic as they made their way to the large library where the King, Treville, and Rochefort were gathered. Treville looked troubled while Louis seemed distraught. Rochefort, of course, maintained a bland, unaffected composure.

"The Spanish ambassador has been murdered," Treville informed them.

Athos pulled up short and exchanged a look with d'Artagnan.

"By the witch," Rochefort proclaimed.

Athos frowned in confusion. Milady had no reason to kill the Spanish ambassador. "How can you be certain?" he asked.

"The body was found on the edge of the palace grounds, spreadeagled, and carved up in a most grisly manner," Rochefort replied. "I recognized the markings of witchcraft."

"This witch has found a way into the palace," Louis interjected, voice pitched high in fear.

"She has no reason to come after you, Your Majesty," Athos tried to assure him. "And I'm not convinced she's responsible for the ambassador's murder."

Rochefort made a small scoffing sound. "You're suggesting a second witch is loose in Paris? That would be quite a coincidence. No, the ambassador was probably killed as a blood sacrifice to increase this witch's power for her latest spell—taking the eyes of the musketeer Porthos."

The King's expression blanched in horror.

Athos clenched his jaw; he hadn't reported that yet, nor had he wanted to until they'd had some time to reverse it.

"Any one of us could become collateral in this witch's quest against Athos," Rochefort went on. "Dark magic often makes use of blood spells."

Louis took an anxious step back, away from his musketeers, eyes wide with fright. "Somebody find this witch!" he screeched before turning on his heel and fleeing from the room.

D'Artagnan glowered at Rochefort, who gave them all a slightly smug look before calmly walking out.

Athos felt like he'd been punched in the kidney. It was bad enough his brothers were in real danger here, but Rochefort had the King convinced everyone else was too. If Louis couldn't trust his Musketeers, who would he turn to?

"Porthos?" Treville spoke up softly, gaze concerned.

Athos didn't respond; it hurt too much to say aloud.

"Blind," d'Artagnan said, flicking a look Athos's way. "Yesterday afternoon."

Treville ran a hand down his face. "The ambassador was killed sometime last night."

D'Artagnan straightened. "Well then it's probably not as Rochefort said, him being killed to increase that spell's power."

"We really can't know one way or another," Athos finally said. Not unless Milady walked up to them and described her plans in detail.

D'Artagnan gaped at him incredulously. "Rochefort is spinning lies to make it seem like the King can't count on us."

"That doesn't necessarily make his point wrong," Athos rejoined. "Milady won't care who gets caught in the crossfire."

"I'll speak with the King," Treville said, though by his tone Athos could tell he didn't hold much hope in persuading him otherwise.

It didn't matter anyway; Athos couldn't stand by and risk innocent people being hurt because of what was between him and Anne. He needed to end this, one way or the other.

He and d'Artagnan returned to the garrison with Doctor Lemay, whom Treville had sent along, just in case he had something to offer Porthos. He probably didn't, given he was a man of science and this was witchcraft, and he told them so. But Treville had asked and so he went.

Athos hung back with Lemay as d'Artagnan went to knock on Porthos's door. Aramis answered, standing with his shirt untucked and dark circles under his eyes. He obviously hadn't slept much. D'Artagnan spoke to him quietly and then waved for Doctor Lemay to come over. Aramis didn't go back inside with them, but slumped against the outer support beam.

Athos went a few doors down to grab a bottle of wine from the kitchen and then returned. He held it out to Aramis without a word, and the marksman took it mutely, knocking back a long drag. Athos didn't need to ask how Porthos was; he could imagine for himself.

A few minutes later Lemay and d'Artagnan re-emerged. The doctor met Athos's gaze and gave a regretful head shake.

"I've never seen anything like it. It's…it's not natural. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do."

"We appreciate you trying," Athos replied numbly. He hadn't expected anything different.

Lemay gave a sober nod and departed.

"Do we go out looking for Milady again?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I'll go," Athos said. "Aramis, you should get some rest."

Aramis straightened, or attempted to under his obvious weariness. "Porthos shouldn't be left alone."

"I'll stay with him," d'Artagnan said but cast a concerned look at Athos. "Are you sure you should go out alone?"

"I'll take Rhaego again," Athos replied. He wouldn't even bother with Rochefort.

He turned and walked away, ending the conversation. Savron was out in the yard with Rhaego and Vrita. Porthos's dragon immediately whipped her head up at his approach, and he could see the worried look in her eyes. She let out a plaintive mewl at him.

"He's in good hands," was all Athos could say. The rest… He turned to Rhaego. "We're going to try picking up the witch's trail again."

The red dragon's expression furrowed self-consciously, and Athos figured he was feeling yesterday's failure as much as they all were.

"I know it's a long-shot," Athos said. "But it's better than sitting around doing nothing."

Rhaego glanced at Vrita and then got to his feet, ready to follow.

Athos had to stop by the dragon tack room to saddle Savron first, and then the three of them headed out to conduct a repeat search from yesterday. Athos had no expectations for success, yet the defeat still weighed heavily on him when they finally gave up and returned to the garrison that evening.

Aramis and d'Artagnan were sitting on the boardwalk outside Porthos's room, shoulders slumped. They looked up as Athos made his way over, the barest flicker of hope lighting their eyes before they registered the glum expression on his face, and then it winked out.

"How is he?" Athos asked, concerned that Porthos was alone.

"Angry. Frightened," Aramis replied. "As to be expected."

"Treville came by," d'Artagnan put in. "The King is now keeping Rochefort busy trying to set up protections in the palace instead of hunting for Milady."

"Because he's been so useful thus far," Aramis muttered.

Athos didn't say anything. He knew he should offer to take his turn sitting with Porthos so the two of them could get some rest. But he had another avenue to explore before they could give in to defeat.

So he walked away without another word, knowing that after these latest developments, his brothers would leave him alone for a bit.

He waited until after dark and then slipped out of the garrison. Only the man at the gate noted his exit, but as Captain, he wasn't questioned. Athos didn't even know if this would work, but he had to assume Milady was watching him, relishing in the pain and anguish she was causing. So Athos headed to the woods outside the palace where he'd last seen her, hoping she would find him like she had before.

He walked under the inky canopy, his flickering torch the only light to see by. "Here I am!" he bellowed. "What are you waiting for!"

A few moments passed and then a heavy mist began to roll in. A clammy chill slithered under the cuffs of his shirt and prickled the hairs on his skin. He tightened his grip on the torch, holding it aloft as both weapon and shield.

"I knew you'd come sooner or later," a mild voice spoke behind him.

Athos whirled, heart slamming against his rib cage. There she stood, just like before: dressed in black with pale, porcelain-like skin and dark, cold eyes. The mist swirled around her like amorphous acolytes pawing fanatically at the edges of her skirts.

Athos swallowed hard and forced himself to straighten. "Reverse what you did to Porthos."

Her lips quirked. "What will you give me in return?" She moved closer, stalking around him like a lioness. "Will you give me your soul?"

Athos felt a chill run through his veins. He didn't answer, though he wondered…could he do it, to save his brothers? It wasn't like he believed there was a God who had any mercy for him when it came time for him to die.

Milady smirked and stepped away from him again. She reached into a fold of her dress and pulled out a round token with a lock of dark hair in the middle. Athos tensed. When she took the piece in both hands and broke it in two, he didn't know whether to breathe or shout.

"There," she said, dropping the pieces to the ground. "The curse is broken."

Athos furrowed his brow in confusion and mistrust. "Just like that? Why?"

"I told you," she said with a wicked smile. "I'm just getting started."

"And how many innocent people will you kill in your quest for revenge?" he demanded.

She shrugged. "I haven't killed anyone—yet. The innocent boarding house owner and priest were killed by your side."

"What about the Spanish ambassador?"

Milady arched a brow, and a sly smile tugged at her mouth. "That wasn't me. I'm not above murder," she added. "But I'm saving it for something more…spectacular."

Then with a manic grin, the mist thickened around them. Athos's torch sputtered under the weight of it. He lost sight of her in the fog, until after a few moments, it dissipated, and he was alone.

Athos didn't know what to make of their conversation, but the broken pieces of that token were still on the ground, and he snatched them up before hastening back to the garrison.

D'Artagnan was out in the yard, looking like he'd been pacing impatiently. "Where were you?" he demanded.

Athos's breath stole from his lungs in terror. Had breaking the token caused more harm? "Porthos?" he asked fearfully.

D'Artagnan frowned. "The same. Where were you?" he repeated.

Athos tried to shake off his momentary alarm and resumed heading for the barracks. "I saw Milady."

"You _what_?"

"When did you last check on Porthos?" Athos asked, ignoring the boy's exclamation.

"I don't know, an hour ago? Athos! What do you mean you saw her? We searched for two days with no trace and now you just walk out of the garrison and go meet her?"

Athos shrugged. That was more or less accurate. "I thought she might come if I was alone."

There was a beat of silence before, "What were you _thinking_?"

"I was thinking of Porthos," Athos rejoined. They reached the barracks and he twisted the door handle, pushing his way inside.

Aramis looked up from the table where his Bible was spread open. Porthos was lying on the bed, head turned toward the wall and eyes closed. Athos's heart was in his throat as he strode toward the bed and gripped his friend's shoulder. He didn't know what he would do if Milady had only been toying with him…

"Porthos." Athos shook him lightly.

He came awake with a startle, one hand lashing out to grab Athos's elbow, eyes flying wide open—and they were brown and whole once more.

Porthos blinked in surprise. "Athos," he breathed. He whipped his gaze around, taking in the room.

Aramis surged out of his chair and moved toward them. "Porthos, can you…?"

Porthos let out a shaky smile. "I can see."

Athos nearly sagged where he stood, especially when Porthos let go of his arm to get to his feet. He moved away from his elated friends and placed the two pieces of the spell token on the table.

After another moment of jubilant relief, the others settled and turned their gazes toward the item.

"Is that…?" Porthos started.

"A piece of your hair," Aramis finished, coming over to examine it. He looked up at Athos. "What happened?"

"I went out into the woods, hoping Milady would reveal herself to me again," he said, slumping down into the chair. Despite the win of having Porthos restored, Athos knew it wasn't the end. "She readily reversed the curse. As she said, she wants us to suffer before she makes her final move."

He dropped his gaze to the floor, unable to bear the looks on his brothers' faces. Silence weighed heavily in the room for several long moments.

"I don't suppose she gave any indication on how long she intends to play with us?" Aramis finally asked.

Athos shook his head.

"Does it matter?" Porthos said gruffly. "We can't fight a sorceress."

"Yes we can," d'Artagnan returned. "People have been battling and defeating witches for centuries. It's not impossible."

"Feels impossible," Porthos muttered.

"D'Artagnan's right," Aramis said. "We just have to stick together and we'll figure it out."

Athos finally raised his head. He wished he could have faith in that as he used to. Milady had a way of stripping him down to nothing, though.

"She denied killing the Spanish ambassador," he said. "And she has no reason to lie."

"Then who did?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos shrugged. "Whoever it was probably knew making it look like a ritual killing would throw suspicion off themselves."

D'Artagnan snorted. "And it worked. The King is so convinced he probably wouldn't listen if we tried to tell him otherwise at this point."

Athos nodded grimly.

"So what now?" Porthos asked.

Athos sighed and rose to his feet. "Now, we get some sleep. We'll need to be well-rested for whatever comes next."

And wasn't that an ominous thought to end the night on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT TIME
> 
> General Alaman of Spain offers to give France a new form of gunpowder in exchange for help rescuing his daughter. But Milady's latest machinations cause the mission to end in disaster.
> 
> ...
> 
> The dragon verse is going on hiatus for the month of Whumptober but will be back Monday Nov. 2nd. Also, Whumptober is gonna start a few days early (as in tomorrow). In addition to 31 days of Musketeer whumpiness, I doubled up on some of the prompts for Star Trek Picard and Merlin, and I've decided to start posting some of those now instead of later. You're welcome. ;)


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